


(Try It) If It Feels Right

by TheDirtyBirdie



Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Menstrual Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker, Unsafe Sex, Vaguely Canon-Adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyBirdie/pseuds/TheDirtyBirdie
Summary: Peter and Tony explore some of the more unorthodox methods of pain relief the internet has to offer.





	(Try It) If It Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

> Picture whichever iteration of the characters you like best ♥
> 
> * most men stop getting their period after going on T, but how long that actually takes varies, and it can come back at random  
> 
> * Peter has had top surgery, but not bottom  
> 
> * he's comfortable being touched anywhere, but prefers gender non-specific terminology, for the most part  
> 
> * don't look for logic here, it's just porn  
> 
> * 0% edited, farm to table trash
> 
> **Warning:** don't have unsafe sex, friends. It's fun in fic, but Very Dumb.

Peter feels sick with pain. Sick and dizzy and so, so very fed up. Sweaty all over and yet still somehow a little too cold.

He’s curled around a pillow, heating pad tucked under his sweater, halfway to crying in Mr. Stark’s bed. He’s been gunning to get into it for a while, now, he just really didn’t evision _this_ being how he ended up here. Still, it might not be ideal, but he does have to admit that if he weren’t so nauseous already, he’d probably get butterflies thinking about how sweet Tony has been with him.

As soon as he’d realized Peter wasn’t feeling well, he’d made him lay down, taking his temperature, his vitals, looking for anything he could _fix_ . Of course, Peter already known exactly what was wrong, felt that familiar pain he hadn’t felt in _years_ , nauseating and entirely un-fucking-fair, and understood he didn’t really have much other choice but to explain. Not only to appease Tony’s worry, but to avoid a mess.

It was not one of his prouder moments.

It’s not- doing what they do, Mr. Stark has seen him far more compromised than this, and he’s not _ashamed_ , but even though he knows, _knows_ he shouldn’t let this get to him, it just- it’s something that makes his body feel foreign to him in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time. He doesn’t love it.

Still, Mr. Stark hadn’t missed a beat, diving immediately into the various different purported reliefs for menstrual cramps, and really, Peter shouldn’t be surprised, he hadn’t batted an eye at Peter’s transition, had simply offered all the support he could- arguably _too much_ at times- but it had been a relief either way.

Unfortunately, no amount of sincerity or acceptance can make any of the aforementioned relievers actually _work_.

He metabolizes painkillers way too quick for them to do any good, massage hurts- not to mention how _awkward_ that one had been, tea, yoga, walking, all a joke, a hot bath did nothing. Tony had even tried hooking him up to a TENS machine he had stashed away, it didn’t do any good. They suspect his healing factor has something to do with it, but it’s a mystery for another day.

The heating pad is the only thing that’s done any good so far, and it’s not _nearly_ enough.

“Isn’t- isn’t there anything else?” He pleads, hating how small his voice sounds. He feels the bed dip as Tony takes a seat at the edge of it, running a hand down Peter’s back. He feels like crying. It doesn’t do much good, but he appreciates the comfort.  
“I’m sorry, kid, we’ve tried everything. Isn’t- wasn’t there anything that helped, before?”   
“ _No._ ” Peter groans, miserable. “Before- it was never this bad, and painkillers still worked.”

He’d been fifteen the last time he had this problem, and it seems he’s currently doomed to make up for nearly four years of missed pain all at once. It’s that thought that he’s staring down the barrel of, wondering how long this can last, how much worse it can get, when Tony clears his throat, a little awkward, hand slipping away. Peter misses the touch immediately, unhelpful as it was.

“Actually, there is one more thing we- you could try.” Peter is both hopeful and a _little_ suspicious and Tony’s hedging. It’s unlike him. “It’s a little unorthodox-” And that- Peter really can’t help it when he snorts into the mattress.  
“ _You_ think it’s weird? Should I be worried?” Because really, Tony’s threshold for weird, at times he wonders if there _is_ actually an end point to it.  
“Smart ass.” Tony chides. “Don’t say I didn’t try to make this less uncomfortable.” Honestly, Peter would be more amused if he weren’t currently _dying_. He whines, urgent and only barely ashamed of himself, and it does the trick. Tony sighs, deep and vaguely pained, before speaking.

“Orgasm is supposed to help. The stronger the better.” He clears his throat, and the tone- he’s clearly uncomfortable, but there’s something in it Peter can’t quite _understand_ . Tony’s never been shy about- well, anything. It seems weird that he would be so strange about this suggestion, unless-  
“Are you offering-”  
“ _No._ ” Tony corrects, quick. A little too quick, really. “I’ll just leave you whatever you need and get out of your hair, kid.”

Peter’s not at his sharpest, and so Tony doesn’t have much trouble doing just that before he can come up with a passable reason to protest. He’s not sure _why_ he even wants to. This is- well, he’s not exactly counting himself as all that likely to successfully seduce _Tony Stark_ at any point in his life, but this is probably the least likely time of all. Still, it feels like a missed opportunity when the door shuts behind the older man.

* * *

* * *

About twenty minutes of increasingly frustrated attempts to get himself off with the vibrator alone go by before he accepts that just isn’t gonna do it.

It always feels like too much or too little pressure, there’s no comfortable way to get his hand where it needs to be, and it hurts too much to turn onto his back and lose the heating pad.

* * *

* * *

He’d hoped adding actual penetration might make up for the discomfort, but it really, really does not.

The angle is always wrong, and his wrist is starting to cramp from being trapped underneath him. There’s just no good way to bend, with the pain he’s in. Still, he’s not quite ready to quit trying.

* * *

* * *

About forty-five minutes later, he has officially given up. He tugs the blanket over himself, does his best to hide the mess he’s made, and calls Mr. Stark for help, willing himself not to cry, more from the embarrassment than anything.

* * *

* * *

He’s pretty sure- no, certain, that Peter is the biggest hurdle in Tony’s attempts to be _better_. Strange, as he’s also, somehow, the most significant proof that he can be.

Unfortunately, never has the first been more clear than in this moment.

Seeing Peter like he is, messy and hurting and just a little embarrassed, _vulnerable_ , it really shouldn’t get to him the way it does. Shouldn’t make his heart beat harder, make his fingers itch with the need to reach out and _take_.

No matter what, though, he really does want to do right by the kid. He sets up something he hopes will help, a machine that will respond to Peter’s needs, track his temperature, heart-rate, breathing, _everything_ , and react accordingly. Get the job done.

He leaves it by the edge of the bed so all Peter has to do is get himself into the right position, doing his best not to make the kid uncomfortable at all despite the situation, and slips out of the room, determinedly _not_ letting on that he’s spent the entire time thinking about how he could do it better. Do it right.

* * *

* * *

The machine, it’s good- really, really good, but it’s not quite _right_.

It can only go on what his body gives, Tony apparently hasn’t rigged it to respond to any type of voice commands just yet, he’d mentioned it was only a prototype.

It can’t listen when he says something is too much or too little, too sensitive, too anything. Not enough. Can’t read the look on his face, understand the whimpers he can’t hold back when something is just right.

Not to mention, it’s horribly, painfully unfair that he can be so close to what he wants- getting off in Tony’s bed, with Tony caring for him, using something _Tony made_ , but still not have the man himself. It makes his vision go blurry and wet and he just can’t stomach it any more.

* * *

* * *

Just like last time, Tony comes when Peter calls. This time, however, he’s distinctly more alarmed by what he finds.

Peter is curled up in the corner of the ensuite shower, and the tears aren’t visible but Tony can see the way the chest is heaving. It makes his own ache.

He slips off his shoes and drops his jacket to the ground before stepping into the shower, telling himself it’s only the steam that makes his breathing more difficult. Crouching down next to Peter, he reaches out to wrap a hand over his nape, the only place that really feels safe to touch, and takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Stay solid for the boy in front of him. Unselfish.

“You okay, kid?” He swallows, hard. “If there was something wrong the machine- are you hurt?” Peter shakes with something that might be a sob, might be a laugh. Hard to say with his face buried in his arms, voice muffled by the shower and his own skin.  
“It didn’t hurt me.” He manages, sniffling. He finally, finally looks up at Tony with red-rimmed eyes and it makes his throat go tight. “I’m just _so tired_ , Mr. Stark. I want it to stop hurting. Want to stop thinking about it”

And Tony- fuck, Tony doesn’t care much about crossing lines in the face of Peter so clearly exhausted and in pain. He shifts forward to wrap his arms around Peter without moving him too much, not wanting to make the pain worse, doing his best to quell the part of his brain that focuses in on the slide of Peter’s warm skin under his palms.

“I’m so sorry, Pete, you know if there was anything I could do-”  
“There _is_ something you can do, though.”

* * *

* * *

He really shouldn’t have asked what.

When Peter tells him- tells him he _needs_ him, all of him. Begging and pleading and telling Tony he’s sorry, like he’s not about to give Tony every terrible, wonderful thing he’s wanted for far too long and never deserved. Like he’s the one with anything to apologize for. Well, there’s about thirty seconds where Tony is near-certain he might just die on the spot.

It’s strange, he’s spent months- years, desperately trying to keep hidden what he wants, how _much_ he wants from Peter, and suddenly he wishes all at once he hadn’t done such a good job. This still wouldn’t be _good_ , not by any stretch of the imagination, but then at least Peter would understand how very, very far from a burden anything he asks of Tony could ever be, especially this.

* * *

* * *

Peter’s sure he’s ruined everything.

Sure of it when Tony turns, silently, and shuts off the water. Sure of it when he wraps Peter in one of his ridiculously large, plush towels and carries him back to bed, unable to summon the will to fight between how sick he already feels and the sinking in his chest.

Sure of it up until Tony lays him down and begins rubbing his hand over Peter’s abdomen through the towel, soothing but not devoid of intention. Low and just hard enough, with eyes far too pointed to be mistaken for anything but want.

* * *

* * *

“You sure about this, kid? I know I said I’d do anything- and I will, but this isn’t just anything.”  
“I’m sure.” Peter swears, vehement and urgent, more than a little impatient. Tony can’t blame him but-  
“Just promise me I’m not taking advantage of you. This isn’t just the pain talking.” Tony knows, truly, that if it were it’s not like he could trust what Peter says, anyways, but it’ll alleviate his guilt just enough to go through with it, anyways. Peter groans, like Tony is the one being unreasonable, here. Like they’re not both so far gone past the point of good ideas it’s downright laughable.

“Mr. Stark- Tony,” He can’t help the heaviness that settles in his gut at the use of his name- rare and desperate from Peter’s mouth. Simple, but _good_ . “I want you all the time- I seriously don’t know how you haven’t noticed, I’ve been _trying_ to get you to-”  
“You’ve been- kid, I swear to god, if this is why you wore those fucking shorts last week- if you could even _call_ them that-” Peter, being the brat he is, has the audacity to _laugh at him_ , but it quickly tapers off into a groan and Tony’s caught somewhere between horny, vindicated, and guilty. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar mix of emotions, but it’s not his favourite, either.

“Tony, _please_ . I do want this, but right now I actually need it or I’m pretty sure I’m going to _die_.” Honestly, he only barely sounds like he’s being dramatic. Now that he knows, really, really knows that Peter wants this, it just seems cruel to let him keep hurting.

He’s still not good enough for the kid, not by half, but he trusts Peter to know what’s good for him, these days, and if Tony is what- who he needs, then he’s got him.

* * *

* * *

Tony helps him get rolled over, hands burning over Peter’s skin even through the towel. He tucks the pillows and heating pad back under Peter so he can curl forward just like before, comfortable as he can really manage, feeling like he feels, pitched forward on bent knees and easy for the older man’s touch.

He tries to distract himself from the sharp ache in his gut by tucking his face down enough to watch Tony undress. He wants to appreciate it, wants to stand up and do it himself, peel the wet clothes from his body, but honestly, more than anything he just wants to stop hurting and so he mostly just wishes Tony would hurry up. Even so, heat flares up beneath the pain when he sees that Tony is already halfway hard.

When he finally joins him on the bed, sitting back on his heels behind Peter, he can’t help the whine that drags out of his chest, a little rough. The pain in his abdomen is sharp and getting sharper.  
“Tony, please, please help me.” Tony’s calloused fingers brush up under his thighs, just at the edge of the towel, and shivers break out across his skin.  
“Christ.” Tony sounds like he’s had the wind knocked out of him as Peter buries his face in the bed and tries to focus on breathing, rocking back just a little into Tony’s hands, the little movements help. “You really don’t have to ask.”  
“Then why aren’t you _doing anything-_ ”  
“Sorry, sorry, Peter. You’re just-” He must give up trying to explain, and Peter is grateful for it because instead he slips his hands under the towel and pushes it up and over Peter’s ass, fabric bunching at his waist. His face burns dizzyingly hot, he’s never been this exposed, most especially not when he’s been such a mess.

He can feel himself, slick with blood and arousal between his thighs and throbbing hot with want and pain, nearly as clear and sharp as the feeling of Tony’s eyes following the path his fingers mark out, dragging down across his skin.

Eventually, _finally_ , his hands drag back up his thighs to grip his ass, pulling him open, skin already so slick it’s slipping away slow from under Tony’s grip, he shifts forward and nudges Peter’s legs open just the littlest bit, and when his fingers drag down over Peter’s crease he fully expects them to dip inside but what he gets instead is Tony’s tongue.

Which- _fuck_ , that’s definitely objectively disgusting, and not at all something he’d have dreamt of asking for, but it feels _so good_ he can’t imagine asking Tony to stop. His hand’s dig gently into Peter’s thighs, one of his thumbs slipping over to hold him open as Tony’s tongue drags across his folds, circling and prodding at the centre of him without quite pushing inside.

He brings his tongue over the sides of him, one at a time and just a ghost of a touch, enough to make his nerves light up, make his body want more without giving in just yet, before delving back in deeper to explore. When he pushes in close so his mouth is pressed against Peter entirely, tongue pushing forward and down, gone firm to rub and tease at the throbbing nub at the head of him, Peter feels warm, soothing arousal burning through his veins, rolling over him and coiling tight in his stomach.

“Tony,” He pants, muffled by the bed. “I can’t believe you’re- _oh my god_ , Mr. Stark.” Tony’s tongue slips inside him while he’s speaking as one of his hands comes around Peter’s hip to massage at his swollen mound, gentle. Like he’s already figured out between his senses and his hormones Peter’s going to be more than a little oversensitive.

The older man hums between his legs as he fucks into him with his tongue, and Peter can feel the vibrations of his voice over his skin. When he finally pulls back, Peter is disappointed for about two seconds before Tony slips two fingers inside him. He works them forward and down, going slow and crooking his fingers with a steady rhythm that has Peter going hot all over, heart pounding heavy in his chest and vision spinning, thoughts falling into a haze as his body feels dramatically split between pain and pleasure.

Tony must be able to tell, not that he’s trying to hide what it’s doing for him, that’s kind of the point, here, because he doesn’t change a thing. Keeps going at just the right pace, with just the right pressure and- and- _fuck_. Peter chokes on air as the warm pleasure in his gut finally crests, waves of warmth rolling out throughout his body, nerves on fire. His muscles go near painfully tense all over, body convulsing over Tony’s fingers, before he goes limp, panting down into the sheets.

For a few seconds, Tony keeps massaging him from the inside out, removing his other hand, where he knows Peter will be most sensitive. He’d have expected it to be too much, even so, but it’s really not.

“You feel any better, kid?” Tony asks, breathless, like _he’s_ the one who just had the air wrung from his lungs. And- honestly, the force of his orgasm was also enough to make him forget, momentarily, that there is a larger goal here, but now that he asks, Peter _does_ feel better. The pain hasn’t quite ebbed entirely, he’s still hurting, but it’s definitely diminished.

Tony shifts behind him and he can feel his burning cock brush against the back of his thigh.   
“Yeah, thank you, Mr. Stark, but- I need more. Please?” It’s possible he’s laying it on a little thick. He already knows more than well enough he doesn’t need to beg, not to mention he’s truthfully down to a fairly manageable amount of pain at this point, but the noise it draws from Tony is more than worth it. “Please, Tony, I need your help, I need _you_.”

Peter hardly gets the words out before Tony is leaning over him, hand fisted in the towel against Peter’s back.  
“Let me take this off.” He asks- near _begs_ .  
“I’ll be cold.” Peter protests, definitely not whining. Tony tugs at it anyways, pulling it away to the side as he drops down closer.  
“I’ll keep you warm, kid.” He promises, voice just a little teasing because he _knows_ how ridiculous it sounds, it makes Peter’s chest ache in the best way.

When Tony slips down to the side just enough that it’s easy for Peter to turn to the side and bring their mouths together he just about _dies_ . The kiss is messy- fucking filthy, in fact, he can taste himself, his _blood_ on Tony’s tongue and the neither of them are particularly worried about finesse, at the moment. It’s slow and deep and open and Peter’s never felt so consumed in his life, but it’s definitely something he looks forward to getting used to.

Too soon, and not soon enough, Tony pulls back and sinks down low, curling over Peter and letting him take just enough of his weight to feel comfortable. His head is buried in Peter’s neck, he can feel the older man’s breath, heavy and warm against his skin. Tony slips one hand underneath him to rub at the apex of his thighs, careful not to be too rough, too direct when he knows Peter’s already sensitive from his last orgasm.

He reaches down with the other to grip his cock and Peter feels him pressing up against his crease, dragging through the mess of him before he finally, finally feels the pressure of his cock where he’s slick and open and _wanting_. The stretch of him is obscenely good when Tony’s hips push forward, agonizingly slow, and he fills Peter up as full as he can ever remember being. He’s been ready long enough it doesn’t hurt a bit.

“Go slow.”  
“I will.” Tony promises, breathing heavy against Tony’s skin as he pulls back, both of thm groaning with the slick drag of it. He rocks forward again, sweat slick skin dragging over Peter’s as he goes. Between the heat of Tony inside and around him and the heating pad still tucked under his hips, Peter feels overwhelmed by heat, every trace of chill chased from his body.

The slow, unending roll of Tony’s hips into his coupled with the tight circles his fingers continue to trace just over where he’s pushing into him has a new ache building up inside once more, slowly chipping away at the remains of the sharp, nauseating pains from earlier. There are moments- with the way Tony is reaching him so deep, so thoroughly- that it almost feels on the edge of too much, but he always slows his thrust just before the scale tips.

Tony’s mouthing at his neck now, wet and desperately hungry, Peter’s hands are shaking where they’re curled into the sheets. Everything, the smell of blood and sweat in the air, the feeling of Tony’s stubble over his skin, his heart beating against Peter’s back, every inch of contact between them, the sound of skin on skin, it’s enough to overwhelm him at the best of times, let alone like this.

It’s nothing at all like he’d ever imagined things might be between them. He’s thought of messy, reverent sex before, but he’d always pictured it a little more frantic, a little more hurting. None of the slow, desperate, almost worshipping patience that Tony touches him with, now. If Peter couldn’t feel Tony so completely, the only give away that this is _difficult_ for him would be the rough fingers digging into the meat of Peter’s waist, running and groping over his side.

Close and in tune as he is, though, Peter can feel the tension that runs through Tony’s body, keeps his muscles tight, controlled. He can hear the restraint in every beat of his heart and knowing that Tony not only wants him so bad, but cares enough to hurt for him, just to make sure Peter doesn’t, it makes this so, so much better than any of Peter’s fantasies, even with the mess and the pain. He wouldn’t change a thing.

Peter knows he’s close, he tells Tony as much.

“Go ahead, baby. I’ve got you.”

And that’s- fuck. Tony tells him to let go and Peter listens. He cries out Tony’s name as the older man fucks him through his orgasm, slow, deep and steady, not letting up as Peter goes hot and cold all over, shudders wracking his body and heart rattling in his chest so hard it chokes the air from his lungs.

As his orgasm ebbs it takes the worst of the remaining pain with it and Peter is left to savour the shallow, grinding thrusts Tony has been reduced to, both of his hands having migrated to his hips.

“Please- _fuck_ \- Peter, can I-”  
“Yes.” Peter half groans, half begs, even with the sheets muffling his words he can hear the exhaustion he feels in his bones reflected in his voice. “Why are you even asking?! Oh my god.”

As soon as he gives permission, the snap of Tony’s hips becomes a little rougher, harder than he’d allow himself before, and even though he’s nowhere near another orgasm, Peter can’t stop the moan that slips off his tongue, and wouldn’t particularly care to if he could. It doesn’t take long for his hips to lose their rhythm, Peter feels the pulsing of his cock and warmth washing through him as he finds his release.

* * *

* * *

Peter doesn’t let him pull out right away, doesn’t want him to, swears the heat of him _helps_ . Tony certainly isn’t going to argue. Peter is already beyond lethargic, obviously sleepy with orgasm and heat and hopefully _relief_ , so he just rolls them gently to the side, tucking a leg between Peter’s so he can curl up behind him, stay tucked inside his deliciously warm body and ignore the mess they’ve made.

* * *

* * *

Once he’s asleep, Tony slips away slowly with a quiet groan, and gets to cleaning up.

As he drags the warm, soft cloth over Peter’s skin, he’s caught somewhere between satisfied delight and gut churning guilt. Peter is gorgeous, sweet, funny, smart as a damn whip, and one of the best things in his life that Tony has done nothing to deserve.

He doesn’t want to end up being one of the worst things in Peter’s.

* * *

* * *

Peter wakes up and smiles at him, sweet and just a little filthy, but more than anything _happy_ and Tony knows, beyond a doubt, he’s going to do his best.

* * *

* * *

Tony drags him into the shower once they’re both awake enough to stand, and Peter would be a liar if he said that derailing their attempts to get cleaned up by creating even more of a mess is anything but intentional.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello/leave a request here or on [tumblr](https://dirtybirdie.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> **PS:** _I'm not trans, I do my best to be educated and aware, write trans characters well, but if you feel like something was represented poorly or written out of ignorance, feel very welcome to point it out. I'm always looking to do better_ ♥


End file.
